Angela Jane Lavender
Oils on Canvas
9" x 12"
Sitting in a pew at my grandmothers funeral, I was 32 weeks and 6 days pregnant. It was early afternoon and I felt my baby boy, give the tiniest little kick.
Huh... “That’s the first time I felt him kick today.”
After the service I got home and chugged a tall glass of orange juice thinking that it would get him dancing.
I laid on my side, completely still, for a solid hour. Maybe I had been moving too much? He’s always the most active when I’m trying to rest.
I pushed on my stomach.
I jumped up and down.
My heart was racing. I felt panicked. I laid on my back and grabbed my fetal Doppler and some massage oil. The liquid was cool against my skin as the handheld device slid across my bare belly.
I heard the reassuring rhythmic thumping of a heartbeat.
“Okay, just sleeping” I whispered through an exhale. I relaxed a little.
That evening I went out to dinner at The Drake with my sisters. I couldn’t tell you the main course but I will never forget that I had a decadent chocolate dessert and a cranberry and gingerale, thinking that all that sugar would surely get him moving.
And when it didn’t, I began to worry. He hadn’t moved all day long. Just that wee kick. My sisters and I agreed that I should go to emerge. Something wasn’t right.
At the hospital Dr Rice performed what felt like the longest ultrasound ever. After no clear answers and no movement, he advised that we go straight to BGH and that he would let them know we were coming. That decision would be the catalyst of my birth story. He would indirectly help bring my son earth-side just as he did for me, when I was born twenty seven years ago.
This was just the beginning of my story. The very tip of the iceberg of a tumultuous first year of motherhood.
But I wouldn’t change it. Not when it gave me Henry.
He is irreplaceable. No matter what birth trauma we need healing from, our journey is written in stone.
Like a diamond, he is an absolute treasure. Worth digging for.
-Featuring Lacy and Ada-